Villette by Charlotte Brontë: Chapter Three - The Art of Minute Observation

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:38

Hello, hello, hello, and a very good morning. It's Thursday and I'm about I'm sitting in the garden thinking I'm going to start uh oh Mr Blackbird has just uh leapt onto the uh lawn mow in front of me. His his feathers are black and glossy and of course his beak is bright orange, really lovely orange. It's almost orange but with a slight perhaps burnt burntness to it. But unfortunately there are gusts of wind, so I know I'm gonna have to use my microphone, which means you won't get to hear the beautiful birds that are singing and while I read to you. So I think a compromise has to be made. Perhaps uh it might be possible for me to uh uh uh buy a microphone or learn how to use it so that you can hear the birds, but the sound of the wind is reduced. I'll I'll look into it. But how are you this jolly spring Thursday? And how is the weight of the world upon you? Is it is it upon you or have you thrown it over your shoulder and let it land on somebody else? Because it's it's not for us to try and sort things out. We don't have to be the world's policeman, do we? We see all the awful stuff and we can't bear it, and we think, goodness, how can we live in such a world? But we have to shut our eyes, turn the radio off, and uh go and see the world as it really is. It's not it's not shutting out the real world by turning the radio off. It's sh it's going out into nature is actually seeing the real world and it's shutting out the false fictional world that politics is in some ways. Right, what should we begin with today? A little bit of history, I think. And today we celebrate the life of Saint Bernadette, 1844 to 79. Visionary of Lord and later at Lords and later a nun. She was the daughter of Francois Soubirou, a miller, and was the oldest of six children who for various reasons lived in acute poverty. At the age of fourteen she experienced in the space of six months a series of eighteen visions of the Virgin Mary, who ordered the building of a church and told Bernadette to drink from a spring, which from that time until the present day produces twenty seven thousand gallons of water a week. The content of the visions was simple. They were principally concerned with the need for prayer and penance. The vast pilgrimage movement which developed from them is the greatest in modern times. She was an undersized ailing child who suffered from asthma, but her intellectual equipment was simple, and some witnesses thought her stupid, but her veracity, courage, and complete disinterestedness are beyond dispute. I wonder what people actually think was the matter with her now. I wonder if it's been written about. It probably has. I'll have a quick look into it. And we also celebrate today Magnus, 1075 to 1116, the Earl of Orkney and a martyr, the son of Erling, one of two Vikings who ruled the Orkneys. Magnus became a pirate in early life, but was converted to Christianity. He was captured by Magnus Barefoot, King of Norway, and compelled to take part in raids along the west coast of Britain. At Anglesey he refused to fight and stayed in his ship, reading his Psalter. He soon escaped to the court of Malcolm III, King of Scotland, that would have taken some doing, and lived as a penitent in a bishop's house. When Magnus Barefoot died he returned to the Orkneys to share the government with his cousin Harkon. This arrangement proved impractical. Harkon and his followers killed Magnus at Eglese. Magnus, according to the saga, accepted violent death as a sacrifice, praying for his murderers. Like other princes who met a violent death for political rather than religious reasons, he was venerated as a martyr. His many miracles resulted in his becoming the principal saint of Orkney, Shetland and North Scotland. Kirkhall Cathedral, where he was buried and where his relics were discovered in 1919, and several other churches, including some in the city of London, rebuilt by Wren, were dedicated to him. He is said to have appeared to Robert Bruce on the eve of Battle of Bannockburn in 1314, promising him victory. I remember reading this last year, and it doesn't feel like a year ago, it feels like eight months ago, and time goes too quickly. And the wind's dropped a bit, so I've taken out the microphone so you can hear the birds and hear puppies scampering about, so that you've got the ambience like in the old times. So now I'm going to go to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. There are two male blue tits singing, and it sounds like they're singing to each other, but we know, of course, they're saying, This is my patch, no, this is my patch, apparently, from what I've learned. So can you hear that? Da da da da da da da da da. That's the noise everyone's saying they whistle. I wish I could whistle. So there we go, can you hear that? One, two, three, four, five. So that's a bit looted, apparently. I've just double checked. And so we've got one on the left hand side of the garden and one on the other side. Right, let's turn to the right page. Let's see how we go with the wind. AD 921, this year before Easter, King Edward ordered his men to go to the town of Touster, take an old Touster that was still involved, and to rebuild it. Then again, after that, in the same year, during the gang days, we know what that is, he ordered the town of Wigmore to be repaired. The same summer, between Lamas and Midsummer, the army broke their parole from Northampton and from Leicester, and went thence northward up to Touster, and fought against the town all day, and thought they should break into it. But the people that were inside defended it till more aid came to them, and the enemy then abandoned the town and went away. Then again, very soon after this, they went out at night for plunder, and came upon men unaware. Do you remember we were reading another version of this yesterday or day before, and seized not a little both in men and cattle betwixt Burnham Wood and Aylesbury. At the same time went the army from Huntingdon and East Anglia, and constructed that work at Ternsford, which they inhabited and fortified, and abandoned the other at Huntingdon, and thought that they should thence oft with war and contention recover a good deal of this land. Thence they advanced till they came to Bedford, where the men who were within it came out against them and fought with them, and put them to flight, and slew a good number of them. Then again after this a great army yet collected itself from East Anglia and from Mercia, and went to the town of Wigmore, which they besieged without, and fought against long in the day, and took the cattle about it. But the men defended the town who were within, and the enemy left the town and went away. And after this the same summer, a large force collected itself in King Edward's dominions, from the highest towns they could go thither, and went to Thamesford, and they beset the town and fought thereon until they broke into it and slew the king, and Earl Togloss, and Earl Man his son, and his brother, and all them that were therein. They went to Maulden and beset the town and fought thereon until more aid came to the townsmen from without to help. The enemy then abandoned the town and went from it, and the men went out after out of the town, and also those that came from without to their aid, and put the army to flight, and slew many hundreds of them, both of the pirates and the others. Soon after this the same harvest went King Edward with the West Saxon army to Parson, and sat there the while that men fortified the town of Talster with a stone wall, and there returned to him Earl Thirforth and the captains, and all the army that belonged to Northampton northward to the Welland, and sought him for their lord and protector. When this division of the army went home, then went another out and marched to the town of Huntingdon, and repaired and renewed it, where it was broken down before by command of King Edward, and all the people of the country that were left submitted to King Edward and sought his peace and protection. It's like the army, in order to keep them busy when they weren't fighting, which was their favourite thing to do, would be to do reparations, but that obviously could only be done if the king or commander had the money to feed them. So a a delicate balancing act all the time. After this, the same year before Martin Mass, went King Edward with the West Saxon army to Colchester and repaired and renewed the town where it was broken down before. There's lots of repairing and renewing the town. I'm gonna have to miss a little bit out. AD ninety two. This year, betwixt gang days and midsummer, went King Edward with his army to Stamford, as in Stamford Bridge, and ordered the town to be fortified on the south side of the river, and all the people that belonged to the northern town submitted to him and sought him for their lord. It was whilst he was tarrying there that Ethelflader, his sister, died at Tamford, Tamworth, twelve nights before midsummer. Then rode he to the borough of Tamworth, and all the population in Mercia turned to him, and before his subjects were Ethelflad, and the kings in North Whale, Howell and Clodac, and Joshwell, and all the people of North Wales sought him for their lord. Then went he thence to Nottingham, and secured that borough, and ordered it to be repaired, and manned both with English and with Danes, and all the population turned to him that was settled in Mercia, both Danish and English. So much that's hidden beneath every single grouping of words. Right, a couple more details. Nine to four this year Edward was chosen for father and for lord by the King of the Scots, and by the Scots and King Reginald, and by all the Northumbrians, and also the King of the Strathclyde Bushans, and by all the Strathclyde Bushans. This year he died, and King Edward died among the Mercians at Farndon, and very shortly, about sixteen days after this, Elwood, his son, died at Oxford. Not a coincidence, I don't think, and their bodies lie at Winchester, and Athelstan was chosen king by the Mercians and consecrated at Kingston, and he gave his sister to Ofsay or Otho, son of the king of the old Saxons. And now sitting up in my kitchen with the candles lit and Earl Grey tea. We're going to continue with Villette by Charlotte Bronte, and it's chapter three The Playmates. Mr Holmes stayed two days. During his visit he could not be prevailed upon to go out. He sat all day long by the fireside, sometimes silent, sometimes receiving and answering Mrs. Breton's chat, which was just of the proper sort for a man in his morbid mood, not oversympathetic, yet not too uncongenial, sensible and even with a touch of the motherly, she was sufficiently his senior to be permitted this touch. As to Paulina, the child was at once happy and mute, busy and watchful. Her father frequently lifted her to his knee. She would sit there till she felt or fancied he grew restless. Then it was Papa, put me down, I shall tire you with my weight. And the mighty burden slid to the rug, and establishing itself on carpet or stool just at papa's feet, the white work box and the scarlet speckled handkerchief came into play. This handkerchief, it seems, was intended as a keepsake for papa and must be finished before his departure. Consequently, the demand on the seamstress's industry, she accomplished about a score of stitches in half an hour, was stringent. The evening by restoring Graham to the maternal roof, his days were passed at school, brought us an accession of animation, a quality not diminished by the nature of the scenes pretty sure to be enacted between him and Miss Paulina. A distant and haughty demeanour had been the result of the indignity put upon her the first evening of his arrival. Her usual answer, when he addressed her was I can't attend to you, I have other things to think about, being implored to state what things business. Graham would endeavour to seduce her attention by opening his desk and displaying its multifarious contents, seals, bright sticks of wax, pen knives with a miscellany of engravings, some of them gayly coloured, which he had amassed from time to time. Nor was this powerful temptation wholly unavailing. Her eyes, furtively raised from her work, cast many a peep towards the writing table. Rich in scattered pictures, an etching of a child playing with a Blenheim spaniel happened to flutter to the floor. Pretty little dog, said she, delighted. Graham prudently took no notice. Ere long, stealing from her corner, she approached to examine the treasure more closely. The dog's great eyes and long ears, and the child's hat and feathers were irresistible. Nice picture was her favourable criticism. Well, you may have it, said Graham. She seemed to hesitate. The wish to possess was strong, but to accept would be a compromise of dignity. No, she put it down and turned away. You won't have it then, Polly? I would rather not, thank you. Shall I tell you what I will do with the picture if you refuse it? She half turned to listen. Cut it into strips for lighting the taper. No but I shall please don't. Graham waxed inexorable on hearing the pledging tone. He took the scissors from his mother's work basket. Here goes, said he, making a menacing flourish right through Fido's head and splitting little Harry's nose. No, no. Then come to me, come quickly or it is done. She hesitated, lingered but complied. Now will you have it? he asked, as she stood before him. Please, but I shall want payment. How much? A kiss. Give the picture first into my hand. Polly, as she said this, looked rather faithless in her turn. Graham gave it. She absconded a debtor, darted to her father, and took refuge on his knee. Graham rose in mimic wrath and followed. She buried her face in Mr Holmes' waistcoat. Papa, papa send him away. I'll not be sent away, said Graham. With face still averted, she held out her hand to keep him off. Then I shall kiss the hand, said he, but that moment it became a miniature fist, and dealt him payment in a small coin that was not kisses. Graham, not failing in his way to be as wily as his little playmate, retreated apparently quite discomforted. He flung himself on a sofa, and resting his head against the cushion, lay like one in pain. Polly, finding him silent, presently peeped at him. His eyes and face were covered with his hands. She turned on her father's knee and gazed at her foe anxiously and long. Graham groaned. Papa, what is the matter? she whispered. You'd better ask him, Polly. Is he hurt? Groan second. He makes a noise as if he were, said Mr Holmes. Mother, suggested Graham feebly, I think you'd better send for the doctor. Oh my eye renewed silence, broken only by sighs from Graham. If I were to cut become blind, suggested this last. His chastiser could not bear the suggestion. She was beside him directly. Let me see your eye. I did not mean to touch it, only your mouth, and I did not think I hit it so very hard. Silence answered her. Her features worked. I am sorry, I'm sorry. Then succeeded emotion, faltering, weeping. Having done trying that child, Graham, said Mrs Breton, it's all nonsense, my pet. And Graham once more snatched her aloft, and she again punished him, and while she pulled his lion's locked locks termed him the naughtyest, rudest, worst, untruest person that ever was. On the morning of Mr Holmes' departure, he and his daughter had some conversation in a window recess by themselves. I heard part of it. Could I pack my box and go with you, papa? she whispered earnestly. He shook his head. Should I be a trouble to you? Yes, Polly. Because I am little Because you are little and tender. It is only great strong people that should travel. But don't look sad, my little girl, it breaks my heart. Papa will soon come back to his Polly. Indeed, indeed I'm not sad, scarcely at all. Polly would be sorry to give papa pain, would she not? Sorrier than sorry. Then Polly must be cheerful, not cry at parting, not fret afterwards. She must look forward to meeting again and try to be happy meanwhile. Can she do this? She will try I see she will. Farewell, then it is time to go. Now just now just now. She held up quivering lips. Her father sobbed, but she, I remarked, did not. Having put her down, he shook hands with the rest present and departed. When the street door closed, she dropped on her knees at a chair with a cry Papa It was a low and long, a sort of why hast thou forsaken me? During an ensuing space of some minutes I perceived she endured agony. She went through in that brief interval of her infant life, emotions such as some never feel. It was in her constitution. She would have more of such instance if she lived. Nobody spoke. Mrs. Breton, being a mother, shed a tear or two. Graham, who was writing, lifted up his eyes and gazed at her. I, Lucy Snow, was calm. The little creature, thus left unharassed, did for herself what none other could do, contended with an intolerable feeling, and ere long in some degree, repressed it. That day she would accept solace from none, nor the next day. She grew more passive afterwards. On the third evening as she sat on the floor, worn and quiet, Graham coming in, took her up gently without a word. She did not resist. She rather nestled in his arms as if weary. When he sat down she laid her head against him. In a few minutes she slept. He carried her upstairs to bed. I was not surprised that the next morning the first thing she demanded was Where is Mr Graham? It happened that Graham was not coming to the breakfast table. He had some exercises to write for that morning's class, and had requested his mother to send a cup of tea into the study. Polly volunteered to carry it. She must be busy about something. Look after somebody. The cup was entrusted to her, for if restless, she was also careful. As the study was opposite the breakfast room, the doors facing across the passage, my eye followed her. What are you doing? she asked, pausing on the threshold. Writing, said Graham. Why don't you come to take breakfast with your mamma? Too busy. He did you want any breakfast? Of course. There then and she deposited the cup on the carpet, like a jailer putting a prisoner's pitcher of water through his cell door, and retreated. Presently she returned. What will we have besides tea? What to eat? Anything good? Bring me something particularly nice. That's a kind little woman. She came back to Mrs. Breton. Please, ma'am, send your boy something good. You shall choose for him, Polly. What shall my boy have? She selected a portion of whatever was best on the table, and ere long came back with a whispered request for some marmalade, which was not there. Having got it, however, for Mrs. Breton refused the pair nothing, Graham was shortly after heard lording her to the skies, promising that when he had a house of his own, she should be his housekeeper, and perhaps if she showed any culinary genius, his cook, and as she did not return, and I went to look after her, I found Graham and her breakfasting tet, she standing at his elbow and sharing his fare, accepting the marmalade which she delicately refused to touch, lest I suppose it should appear that she had procured it as much on her own account as his. She constantly evinced these nice perceptions and delicate instincts. The league of acquaintanceship thus struck up was not hastily dissolved. On the contrary, it appeared that time and circumstances served rather to cement than loosen it. Ill assimilated as the two were in age, sex, pursuits, etc, they somehow found a great deal to say to each other. As to Paulina, I observed that her little character never properly came out, except with young Breton. As she got settled and accustomed to the house, she proved tractable enough with Mrs. Breton, but she would sit on a stool at that lady's feet all day long, learning her task or sewing, or drawing figures with a pencil on a slate, and never kindling once to originality or showing a single gleam of the peculiarities of her nature. I ceased to watch her under such circumstances she was not interesting, but the moment Graham's knock sound of an evening, a change occurred. She was instantly at the head of the staircase. Usually her welcome was a reprimand or a threat. You have not wiped your shoes properly on the mat, I shall tell your mamma. Little busybody, are you there? Yes, and you can't reach me. I'm higher up than you, peeping between the rails of the banister. She could not look over them. Polly? My dear boy such was one of her terms for him, adopted in imitation of his mother. I am fit to faint with fatigue, declared Graham, leaning against the passage wall in seeming exhaustion. Dr. Digby, the headmaster, has quite knocked me up with overwork. Just come down and help me to carry up my books. Ah, you're cunning. Not at all, Polly, it's a positive fact. I'm as weak as a rush. Come down. Your eyes are quiet like the cats, but your spring Spring nothing of the kind. It isn't in me. Come down. Perhaps I may if you promise not to touch, not to snatch me up and to whirl me round. Aye, I couldn't do it, sinking into a chair. Then put the books down on the first step and go three yards off. This being done, she descended warily, and not taking her eyes from the feeble Graham. Of course her approach always galvanized him to new and spasmodic spasmodic life. The game of romps was sure to be exacted. Sometimes she would be angry, sometimes the matter was allowed to pass smoothly, and we would hear her say as she led him upstairs Now, my dear boy, come and take your tea. I'm sure you must want something. It was sufficiently comical to observe her as she sat beside Graham while he took that meal. In his absence she was still a personage, but with him the most officious, fidgety little body possible. I often wished she would mind herself and be tranquil, but no, herself was forgotten in him. He could not be sufficiently well waited on, nor carefully enough looked after. He was more than the grand Turk in her estimation. She would gradually assemble the various plates before him, and when one would suppose all he could possibly desire was within his reach, she would find out something else. Ma'am, she would whisper to Mrs. Bratton, perhaps your son would like a little cake. Sweet cake, you know, there is some in there, pointing to the sideboard cupboard. Mrs. Breton, as a rule, disapproved of sweet cake at tea, but still the request was urged. One little piece only for him as he goes to school. Girls such as me and Miss Snow don't need treats, but he would like it. Graham did like it very well and almost always got it. To do him justice he would have shared his prize with her, to whom he owed it, but that was never allowed. To insist was to ruffle her for the evening. To stand by his knee and monopolise his talk and notice was the reward she wanted, not a share of the cake. With curious readiness did she adapt herself to such themes as interested him. One would have thought the child had no mind or life of her own, but must necessarily live, move, and have her being in another. Now that her father was taken from her, she nestled to Graham and seemed to feel by his feelings, to exist in his existence. She learned the names of all his school fellows in a trice, she got by heart their characters as given from his lips. A single description of an individual seemed to suffice. She never forgot or confused identities. She would talk with him the whole evening about people she had never seen, and appear completely to realise their aspect, manners and dispositions. Some she learned to minute mimic. An undermaster, who was an aversion of young Breton's, had, it seems, some peculiarities, which she caught up in a moment from Graham's representation and rehearsed for his amusement. This, however, Mrs. Breton disapproved and forbade. The pair seldom quarrelled, yet once a rupture occurred in which her feelings received a severe shock. One day Graham, on the occasion of his birthday, had some friends, lads of his own age, to dine with him. Paulina took much interest in the coming of these friends, she had frequently heard of them. They were amongst those of whom Graham oftenest spoke. After dinner the young gentlemen were left by themselves in the dining room, where they soon became very merry and made a good deal of noise. Chancing to pass through the hall I found Paulina sitting alone on the lowest step of the staircase, her eyes fixed on the glossy panels of the dining room door where the reflection of the hall lamp was shining, her little brow knit in anxious meditation. What are you thinking about, Polly? Nothing particular. The boys seem very cheerful, and I want to go to them. I want to be with Graham and watch his friends. What hinders you from going? I feel afraid, but may I try, do you think? May I knock at the door and ask to be let in? I thought perhaps they might not object to have her as a playmate, and therefore encouraged the attempt. She knocked, too faintly at first to be heard, but on a second essay the door unclosed. Graham's head appeared. He looked in high spirits, but impatient. What do you want, you little monkey? To come to you Do you, indeed, as if I would be troubled with you. Away to mamma and Mistress Snow, and tell them to put you to bed. The auburn hair and bright flushed face vanished. The door shut peremptorily, and she was stunned. Why does he speak so? He never spoke so before, she said in consternation. What have I done? Nothing, Polly, but Graham is busy with his school friends, and he likes them better than me. He turns me away now they are here. I had some thoughts of consoling her and of improving the occasion by inculcating some of those maxims of philosophy whereof I had ever a tolerable stock ready for application. She stopped me, however, by putting her fingers in her ears at the first words I uttered, and then lying down on the mat with her face against the flags, nor could either Warren or the cook root her from that position. She was allowed to lie, therefore, till she chose to rise of her own accord. Graham forgot his impatience the same evening, and would have accosted her as usual when his friends were gone, but she wrenched herself from his hand, her eye quite flashed. She would not bid him good night, she would not look in his face. The next day he treated her with indifference, and she grew like a bit of marble. The day after he teased her to know what was the matter. Her lips would not unclose. Of course he could not feel real anger on his side. The match was too unequal in every way. He tried soothing and coaxing. Why was she angry? What had he done? By and by tears answered him. He petted her and they were friends, but she was one on whom such incidents were not lost. I remarked that never after this rebuff did she seek him or follow him, or in any way solicit his notice. I told her once to carry a book or some article to Graham when he was shut up in his study. I shall wait until he comes out, she said proudly. I don't choose to give him the trouble of rising to open the door. Young Breton had a favourite pony on which he often rode out. From the window she always watched his departure and return. It was her ambition to be permitted to have a ride round the courtyard on this pony, but far be it from her to ask such a favour. One day she descended to the yard to watch him dismount. As she leaned against the gate, the longing wish for the indulgence of a ride glittered in her eye. Come, Polly, will you have a canter? asked Graham, half carelessly. I suppose she thought he was too careless. No, thank you, she said, turning away with the utmost coolness. You'd better, pursued he. You will like it, I'm sure. Don't think I should care a fig about it, was the response. That's not true. You told Lucy Snow you longed to have a ride. Lucy Snow is a tatter box, I heard her say, her imperfect articulation was the least precocious thing she had about her, and with this she walked into the house. Graham coming in soon after, observed to his mother Mamma, I believe that creature is a changeling. She is a perfect cabinet of oddities, but I should be dull without her. She amuses me a great deal more than you or Lucy Snow. Miss Snow, said Paulina to me once, she had now got into the habit of occasionally chatting with me when we were alone in our room at night. Do you know on what day in the week I like Graham best? How can I possibly know anything so strange? Is there one day out of the seven when he is otherwise than on the other six? To be sure, can't you see? Don't you know? I find him the most excellent on a Sunday. Then we have him the whole day, and he is quiet and in the evening so kind. This observation was not altogether groundless. Going to church, etc kept Graham quiet on the Sunday, and the evening he generally dedicated to a serene, though rather indolent sort of enjoyment by the parlour fireside. He would take possession of the couch and then he would call Polly. Graham was a boy not quite as other boys are. All his delight did not lie in action, he was capable of some intervals of contemplation. He could take a pleasure too in reading, nor was his selection of books wholly indiscriminate. There were glimmerings of characteristic preference, and even of intuitive taste in the choice. He rarely, it is true, remarked on what he read, but I have seen him sit and think of it. Polly being near him, kneeling on the little cushion or the carpet, a conversation would begin in murmurs, not inaudible through those subdued. I caught a snatch of their tenor now and then, and in truth some influence better and finer than that of every day seemed to soothe Graham at such times into no ungentle mood. Have you learned any hymns this week, Polly? I have learned a very pretty one, four verses long. Shall I say it? Speak nicely then, don't be in a hurry. The hymn being rehearsed, or rather half chanted in a little sing song voice, Graham would take exceptions at the manor and proceed to give a lesson in a recitation. She was quick in learning, apt in imitating, and besides her pleasure was to please Graham. She proved a ready scholar. To the hymn would succeed some reading, perhaps a chapter in the Bible. Correction was seldom required here, for the child could read any simple narrative chapter very well, and when the subject was such as she could understand and take an interest in, her expression and emphasis were something remarkable. Joseph cast into the pit, the calling of Samuel, Daniel in the lion's den, these were favourite passages. Of the first especially she seemed perfectly to feel the pathos. Poor Jacob, she would sometimes say with quivering lips, how he loved his son Joseph. As much, she once added, as much, Graham, as I love you if you were to die, and she reopened the book, sought the verse and read, I should refuse to be comforted and go down into the grave to your mourning. With these words she gathered Graham in her little arms, drawing his long tressed head towards her. The action I remember struck me as strangely rash, exciting the feeling one might experience on seeing an animal dangerous by nature, but half tamed by art, too heedlessly fondled. Not that I feared Graham would hurt or roughly check her, but I thought she ran risk of incurring such a careless, impatient repulse as would be worse almost to her than a blow. On the whole, however, these demonstrations were born passively, sometimes even a sort of complacent wonder at her earnest partiality, would smile not unkindly in his eyes. Once he said You like me almost as well as if you were my little sister, Polly. Oh I do like you, she said. I do like you very much. I was not long allowed the amusement of this study of character. She had scarcely been at Breton two months when a letter came from Mr Hol, signifying that he was now settled amongst his maternal king's kinsfolk on the continent that, as England was become wholly distasteful to him, he had no thoughts of returning thither, perhaps for years, and that he wished his little girl to join him immediately. I wonder how she will take this news, said Mrs. Breton, when she had read the letter. I wondered too, and I took it upon myself to communicate it. Repairing to the drawing room in which calm and decorated apartment she was fond of being alone, and where she could be implicitly trusted, for she fingered nothing, or rather soiled nothing she fingered, I found her seated like a little odalisque on a couch, half shaded by the drooping draperies of the window near. She seemed happy all her appliances for occupation were about her, the white wood work box, a shred or two of muslin, and an end or two of ribbon, collected for conversion into doll millinery. The doll Julie nightcapped and night gowned lay in its cradle, and she was rocking it to sleep with an air of the most perfect faith in its possession of sentient and somnolent faculties, her eyes at the same time being engaged with a picture book which lay open on her lap. Miss Snow, she said in a whisper, this is a wonderful book. Candace, the doll christened by Graham, for indeed its begrimed complexion gave it much of an Ethiopian aspect. Candace is asleep now, and I may tell you about it, only we must both speak low lest she should waken. This book was given me by Graham. It tells about distant countries, a long, long way from England, which no traveller can reach without sailing thousands of miles over the sea. Wild men live in these countries, Miss Snow, who wear clothes different from ours. Indeed some of them wear scarcely any clothes, for the sake of being cool, you know, for they have very hot weather. Here is a picture of thousands gathered in a desolate place, a plain spread with sand, round a man in black, a good, good Englishman, a missionary who is preaching to them under a palm tree. She showed me a little coloured cut to that effect. And here are pictures, she went on, more stranger, grammar was occasionally forgotten, than that. There is the wonderful great wall of China. Here is a Chinese lady with a foot littler than mine. There is a wild horse of tartary, and here, most strange of all, is a land of ice and snow, without green fields, woods or gardens. In this land they found some mammoth bones. There are no mammoths now. You don't know what it was, but I can tell you, because Graham told me a mighty goblin creature, as high as this room and as long as the hall. But not a fierce flesh eating thing, Graham thinks. He believes if I met one in a forest it would not kill me unless I came quite in its way, when it would trample me down against the bushes, as I might tread on a grasshopper in a hayfield, without knowing it. Thus she rambled on. Polly, I interrupted, should you like to travel? Not just yet, was the prudent answer, but perhaps in twenty years when I'm a grown woman as tall as Mrs. Breton, I may travel with Graham. We intend going to Switzerland and climbing Mount, and some day we shall sail over to South America and walk to the top of Kim Kimborazzo. But how should you like to travel now if your papa was with you? Her reply, not given till after a pause, evinced one of those unexpected turns of temper peculiar to her. Where is the good of talking in that silly way? she said. Why do you mention papa? What is papa to you? I was just beginning to be happy and not to think about him so much, and there it'll be all to do all over again. Her lip trembled. I hastened to disclose the fact of a letter having been received and to mention the directions given that she and Harriet should immediately rejoin this dear papa. Now, Polly, are you not glad? I added. She made no answer. She dropped her book and ceased to rock. broke her doll. She gazed at me with gravity and earnestness. Shall you not like to go to papa? Of course, she said at last, in that trenchant manner she usually employed in speaking to me and which was quite different from that she used with Mrs. Breton, and different again from the one dedicated to Graham. I wished to ascertain more of what she thought, but no, she would converse no more. Hastening to Mrs Breton, she questioned her and received the confirmation of my news. The weight and importance of these tidings kept her perfectly serious the whole day. In the evening, at the moment Graham's entrance was heard below, I found her at my side. She began to arrange a locket ribbon about my neck. She displaced and replaced the comb in my hair. While thus busied, Graham entered Tell him by and by, she whispered tell him I am going. In the course of tea time I made the desired communication. Graham it chanced, was at that time greatly preoccupied about some school prize for which he was competing. The news had to be told twice before it took proper hold of his attention, and even then he dwelt on it but momently Polly going, what a pity dear little mousy I shall be sorry to lose her. She must come to us again, mamma and hastily swallowing his tea he took a candle and a small table to himself and his books and was soon buried in study. Little Mousie crept to his side and lay down on the carpet at his feet, her face to the floor, mute and motionless she kept that post and position till bedtime. Once I saw Graham, wholly unconscious of her proximity, push her with his restless foot. She receded an inch or two. A minute after one little hand stole out from beneath her face to which it had been pressed and softly caressed the heedless foot. When summoned by her nurse she rose and departed very obediently, having bid us all a subdued good night. I will not say that I dreaded going to bed an hour later, yet I certainly went with an unquiet anticipation that I should find that child in no peaceful sleep. The forewarning of my instinct was but fulfilled, when I discovered her all cold and vigilant, perched like a white bird on the outside of the bed. I scarcely knew how to accost her she was not to be managed like another child. She, however, accosted me. As I closed the door and put the light on the dressing table, she turned to me with these words I cannot cannot sleep, and in this way I cannot cannot live I asked what ailed her Deadful misery said she, with her piteous lisp shall I call Mrs Breton? That's downright silly was her impatient reply, and indeed I well knew that if she had heard Mrs Breton's foot approach she would have nestled quiet as a mouse under the bedclothes, while lavishing her eccentricities regardlessly before me, for whom she professed scarcely the semblance of affection, she never showed my godmother one glimpse of her inner self for her she was nothing but a docile, somewhat quaint little maiden. I examined her, her cheek was crimson, her dilated eye was both troubled and glowing and painfully restless. In this state it was obvious she must not be left till morning. I guessed how the case stood. Would you like to bid Graham goodnight again? I asked he is not gone to his room yet. She at once stretched out her little arms to be lifted. Folding a shawl around her, I carried her back to the drawing room. Graham was just coming out. She cannot sleep without seeing and speaking to you once more, I said she does not like the thought of leaving you. Ah I've spoilt her, said he, taking her from me with good humour and kissing her little hot face and burning lips. Polly you care for me more than for papa now I do care for you, but you care nothing for me was her whisper. She was assured to the contrary, again kissed, restored to me, and I carried her away, but alas not soothed. When I thought she could listen to me I said Paulina you should not grieve that Graham does not care for you so much as you care for him. It must be so Her lifted and questioning eyes asked why because he is a boy and you are a girl he is sixteen and you are only six. His nature is strong and gay and yours is otherwise but I love him so much he should love me a little he does he is fond of you are his favourite Am I Graham's favourite? Yes, more than any little child I know. The assurance soothed her. She smiled in her anguish But I continued don't fret and don't expect too much of him or else he will feel you to be troublesome, and then it is all over All over she echoed softly then I'll be good I'll try to be good, Lucy Snow. I put her to bed. Will he forgive me this one time? she asked, as I undressed myself. I assured her that he would, that as yet he was by no means alienated, and that she had only to be careful for the future. There is no future said she I am going shall I ever see him again after I leave England? I returned an encouraging response. The candle being extinguished a still half hour elapsed. I thought her asleep when the little white shape once more lifted itself in the crib, and the small voice asked Do you like Graham, Miss Snow? Like him? Yes, a little only a little do you like him as I do? I think not no, not as you do Do you like him much? I told you I liked him a little where is the use of caring for him so very much he is full of faults Is he? All boys are more than girls very likely wise people say it is folly to think anybody perfect and as to likes and dislikes we should be friendly to all and worship none Are you a wise person? I mean to try to be so go to sleep I cannot go to sleep have you no pain just here laying her elfish hand on her elfish breast when you think you shall have to leave Graham, for your home is not here Surely Polly, said I you should not feel so much pain when you are so very soon to rejoin your father. Have you forgotten him? Do you no longer wish to be his little companion? Dead silence succeeded this question. Child, lie down and sleep, I urged. My bed is cold, said she I can't warm it. I saw the little thing shiver. Come to me, I said, wishing yet scarcely hoping that she would comply, for she was a most strange, capricious little creature, and especially whimsical with me. She came, however, instantly, like a small ghost gliding over the carpet. I took her in. She was chill, I warmed her with my arms, she trembled nervously, I soothed her, thus tranquilized and cherished she at last slumbered a very unique child, thought I, as I viewed her sleeping countenance by the fitful moonlight, and cautiously and softly wiped her glittering eyelids and her wet cheeks with my handkerchief. How will she get through this world or battle with this life? How will she bear the shocks and repulses, the humiliations and desolations which books and my own reason tell me are prepared for all flesh She departed the next day, trembling like a leaf when she took leave, but exercising self command And that's the end of chapter three Next time is chapter four Miss Marchmont and it begins on quitting Breton, which I did a few weeks after Paulina's departure, little thinking that I was never again to visit it, and never more to tread its old calm streets Good night.